


Seeable Destinations

by helloearthlings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, M/M, Memories, Modern Era, Reincarnation, Relationship(s), Repressed Memories, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a difference between knowing and remembering. Arthur knows that a thousand years ago, he was a king. He knows he had a queen, had knights, had a warlock. But he doesn't remember them. And they don't remember him. Which, in Merlin's case, turns out to be quite the issue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeable Destinations

**Author's Note:**

> Less than a day after I finish a multi-chap story, so naturally I'm starting another. Hopefully you all enjoy! I'm hoping to cause you much pain.

From the moment Arthur opened his eyes on his twenty-first birthday, he knew.

After several hours of internalized panicked mainly shown in the form of pacing about his empty flat, yelling at thin air, and trying not to heave over the toilet bowl, he finally began to accept it, this huge and gaping issue that had seemingly appeared overnight, but he was now aware that it had always been there lying in wait, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Arthur’s life would never be the same again.

“I’m Arthur Pendragon,” he said out loud, voicing it for the first time. He was alone in his bedroom, in the flat that only he occupied; it wasn’t like anyone was going to hear him and refute his claims. “I’m Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.”

He laughed incredulously to himself because there was no way, no fucking way, that this was reality.

He hadn’t known before, had never known, just thought of himself as average (well, not quite average), Arthur Penn, good at footie and finances, not so good at humor and relationships. He had never thought, never even considered –

But then again, why would he? Why would anyone ever suspect they were a mythical king reborn?

Arthur knew this was who he was, though; his bones and muscles pleaded with him and commanded him to take the reins of his destiny once more.

“If I’m King Arthur, why can’t I remember anything?” Arthur asked himself, asked the universe, asked whoever had put him here, half incredulously and half pleadingly. His life in Camelot, for he knew he had one, was like a slippery slope, one he couldn’t quite get a hold on. He had no memories other than a few scattered images of a castle and perhaps a darkened wood with a roaring fire. There was nothing else there.

Maybe he was just going insane.

This was real, though, this had to be real. Arthur couldn’t imagine any reality in which this was _not_ real. It had to be, there was no other choice, no other option.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Naturally, he did was he always did in an emergency.

He called Morgana.

“You remember, too, didn’t you?” She asked, picking up on the third ring, and Arthur nearly fell out of his chair. “Well, not _remember._ But you know, you know you’re Arthur. The first, the original Arthur.”

“I know,” he told her, still regaining his balance and pressing the phone even deeper against his ear as if it would give him a deeper understanding of this torn and strewn mess. Yesterday, his life had made sense. Now it was this.

“You do realize I’m Morgana Le Fay, don’t you?” Her voice was stronger, but also tinged in a bit of worry, more somber than Arthur was accustomed to hearing it. “Or whatever her name was. The witch, your sister that betrayed you and probably tried to kill you.”

“The myths might have things wrong,” Arthur protested, but she cut him off.

“Oh, no, I’m certain they’re right. I don’t remember anything, but I’m almost positive that we were enemies. Perhaps this life is just our second chance.”

“You’re already making more sense of this than I am,” Arthur rubbed his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “How long have you known? Surely longer than me.”

“About two hours now,” she said instead, brightly and crisply, and Arthur groaned. “I assume there are more of us. How should we go about finding them?”

“I don’t know, I can’t think right now,” Arthur told her as he glanced about his kitchen, hoping that a cup of coffee was a part of his near future. “Wait – My footie team. There’s a Lancelot there, a Gwaine, too. Do you think…?”

“It has to be!” Morgana’s voice went up several octaves, and Arthur had to hold the phone away from his ear to sustain his normal hearing functions. “Call them, go to their houses, whatever you can do. They should know, too, shouldn’t they? Maybe they even remember something, remember more than we do.”

Glad of goal, of a purpose, of a cause that made some form of sense, other than just stewing in his own screaming thoughts in his overcrowded mind, Arthur set out to do just that.

* * *

 

He knew where Gwaine lived, had been there for many raucous parties that the other man had hosted, but Arthur was certain that this was the first time he had been there sober. Gwaine, he knew, was a resident funny man, forever cracking jokes and smoothly flirting with whoever caught his fancy. Still, he had never had a serious conversation with the man.

Apparently, this was about to change.

He knocked on the door.

It was open within an instant.

“Arthur!” Gwaine’s exuberant voice greeted him, pulling him inside a spacious, highly decorated flat – decorated with garbage, that was, with dirty laundry, dishes, and other such messes all across the barely visible floor. Gwaine seemed to be aware of Arthur’s notice of the mess, but was less than caring toward the situation. “Brilliant. Percy, we’ve got us a king!”

“You’ve got you a what –?” Arthur tried to question the statement, but was interrupted by an extremely tall, muscular man leaning against a doorway opposite than of the flat’s entrance.

“You must be Arthur,” the man said, grinning wide as can be, although it did nothing to match Gwaine’s manic one that reached his ears. “I take it you’ve started to figure this out?”

“Yeah, yeah, sort of,” Arthur was met with unexpected warmth for the other man, and he reached out to pump his hand. He did the same for Gwaine, who registered the same kind of emotions. It was strange, the fact that he had known these men in another life, a life where he had been there ruler and leader. And they had been his knights.

“I’m Percival. In this life, Gwaine’s flatmate and future gym teacher, in the past, one of your knights,” the giant of a man introduced himself. “And I take it you already know Gwaine.”

“Play on the same footie team,” Gwaine nodded in assent. Turning to Arthur, he said “I’m sure if you gave me more time, I would have figured out your secret identity eventually.”

“Sure you would,” Arthur snorted a bit rudely, but it only made his two comrades – comrades, comrades in arms – laugh. “Do you happen to remember anything – anything at all about Camelot?”

“Other than the fact that we were there, you mean?” Gwaine clarified. “No. Not a thing. We’ve been attempting to quiz each other for most of the morning.”

“With less than stellar results,” Percival filled in with a heaving sigh that could have probably knocked a building over if he really tried. Arthur grinned ruefully at the both of them.

“Same here,” he said. “I was thinking – I’m going to try to find whoever else I can, but –”

Before he could finish his train of thought, the door that Gwaine had closed behind him was opened with a bang and a flair as a small, dark-haired figure stormed inside.

“Gwaine, I have to talk to you –” A strained feminine voice began, and when Arthur turned to face the stranger, he found himself smiling.

Her brown eyes regarded him warily for only a few seconds before they truly registered him, changing into an expression of shock. She breathed out “You’re Arthur, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Arthur confirmed. “I want to say that you’re Guinevere, but I might be wrong.”

“I’m Gwen,” she replied, squeaking slightly, blushing under his gaze, which he found oddly endearing. “It’s – wow. Um. Hi.”

Gwaine’s eyes flickered between them as an expression of mirth appeared on his face. “Husband and wife meet at last.”

Percival, thankfully, stomped on Gwaine’s foot. Judging by the look of pure pain in the others’ eye, it wasn’t a soft step. Arthur didn’t feel sorry for Gwaine in the slightest; he had simply brought it upon himself. Who did he think he was, interrupting possibly one of the most lovely yet increasingly awkward moments of Arthur’s life?

“Ignore him,” Arthur said with a smile. “I think he’s a bit deluded in the head. Nice to meet you – or, well, see you again. Guinevere.”

“It’s Gwen,” she corrected him, trying to grin back, although he could tell she was very nervous, and Arthur was hyper-aware of their audience. “And, uh – I live next door, and I know who I am, know who all of you are – So does my boyfriend, Leon. And I called by brother Elyan. They’re both…knights. That’s a very strange thing to say, isn’t it? Knights.”

“Knights of the Round Table,” Gwaine nodded seriously in assent. Arthur let out a breath of relief at knowing that there were two other knights that he didn’t have to worry about, that were already found, and also with the news that Gwen had a boyfriend. It would be quite horrible for the two of them to feel pressured into dating because of their kingly and queenly status of past lives. Besides, even if they knew each other then, loved each other then, they were practically strangers now.

“Speaking of Round Table…are we all going, I don’t know, meet or something?” Percival suggested.

“That’s a good idea,” Arthur agreed, leaning against the countertop. “I mean, it’s not like there’s much else for us to do. We’re all mythical figures reborn into a modern world – I don’t really think there’s a support group for that kind of thing.”

There was a laugh from each of them at that, and Arthur found that it gave him the courage to continue on, to lead whatever this was. “So maybe we contact all of the people we can, tell them to meet at my place on Sunday?”

“Sounds like as good an idea as any,” Gwen said brightly, her nerves seemingly melted away as well. “I’ll tell Leon and Elyan. Oh, and I know a Morgana, too, I could see if she’s…”

“I’ve already found our Morgana,” Arthur said. “My sister.”

“Oh, does that make you Arthur Penn?” Gwen’s face shone curiously. “She’s told me about you. We have psych courses together.”

“Of course you do,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Typical, her knowing my wife before I do.”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, for Gwen’s face turned crimson once more.

Thankfully, Gwaine saved him by interrupting with “There’s a Lancelot on the footie team.”

“I was heading to his place next,” Arthur said, throwing himself into the change of topic. “If any of you find anyone, hear from anyone…”

After rattling off both his phone number and address, with three solemn promises to be at his flat by noon on Sunday, Arthur headed back out into the London streets. It was reassuring knowing that he wasn’t alone, but at the same time, having others involved terrified him.

It meant there was no going back.

* * *

 

Surprisingly, Lancelot greeted Arthur with a friendly embrace and an “It’s good to see you again.”

“You remember me?”

“Not quite. But nonetheless, it’s good to see you.”

It was nice, it was pleasant, and Arthur wondered how it was that the two of them and Gwen were caught up in one of the most famous love triangles of all time, when the two of them seemed sweet as can be and the last thing that Arthur would expect lying cheaters to appear like.

The myths could be wrong, though, and besides, Morgana had said this could be for a second chance, and Arthur, even though he didn’t know why, wished for everything with these newfound friends, partners, knights, queens, whatever they may be, to bring happiness.

Lancelot offered tea, which Arthur declined, and was genuinely excited at the prospect of the group’s meeting two days from then.

“Knights of the Round Table, together again after a thousand years,” he said when Arthur pointed out his enthusiasm. “You have to admit, that’s pretty incredible.”

Arthur was inclined to agree with him.

Just as he was about to exit and hopefully head back to his flat to splash some cold water on his face and possibly watch the most mind-numbing, distraction-based television in existence to drown out all of today’s intensity, when Lance stopped him.

“Look – I know a bloke named Merlin,” Arthur’s arm was snagged in a second and Lancelot looked up at him with serious eyes and a touch of trepidation.

“Merlin? Really?” An unwitting grin appeared on Arthur’s face. “I wouldn’t think…well, call him, bring him along on Sunday. I’m sure everyone will be thrilled to meet him.”

“He might not be too happy to meet them, though,” Lance’s eyes were shifty now, almost nervous. “I just – would you stop by his place and talk to him first? Please? He’s not really…”

“He’s a mad old hermit with no social skills to speak of?” Arthur suggested with a snort, imagining the bearded old wizard of legend. He wondered if the man truly had magic, if that concept of myth was real as well. “Don’t tell me – he lives in a cave?”

“Try him being an English major here with a less than stellar track record and a bit of an issue with authority,” Lance said grimly as Arthur’s eyes widened. “He’s a good guy, really, but…it might be necessary to meet with him first.”

“Okay,” Arthur frowned. “Give me an address.”

* * *

 

Merlin didn’t live far from Lancelot, only a few blocks over, which made Arthur wonder just what a mess Merlin was, if Lance was only sending Arthur this far up the street. Still, there was a kind of happiness inside of him at the prospect of this meeting, a bubble of joy that couldn’t be popped, and he had no idea why.

He decided not to question it. It wasn’t like events would be heading in a predictable way whatever may happen. Arthur was starting to accept that normalcy would never have the same definition again.

He knocked on the door of the address Lance had given him, not sure what to expect.

It definitely wasn’t a loud bang followed by the door bursting open to reveal a tall, slim man that couldn’t be older than twenty with overlarge ears peeking out of his overgrown black hair, dressed in shoddy pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt, regarding Arthur with utmost contempt.

It was off-setting, and it made Arthur’s mouth went dry. “Hi.”

The man’s eyes surveyed his body up and down, and Arthur was met with the creeping feeling that he was being tested. “Hello, Arthur.”

“Merlin?” Arthur tried, knowing he was right but wanting to be sure. The man nodded a bit jerkily.

“Why are you here?”

“To talk to you?” Arthur tried. “Lancelot Du Lac gave me your address. He’s – you know, the real Lancelot. Everyone that was reborn, we were all going to meet at my place on Sunday. He seemed to think that I should talk to you first –”

Merlin interrupted him with a derisive snort. “It’s like he doesn’t trust me.”

This was wrong, Arthur thought. This wasn’t how this meeting should be going, not at all. This should be…Purer. Emotional. Something of a reunion. He shook off those feelings, though, those ridiculous notions that obviously had nothing to do with the man in front of him.

“Look, I just came by to tell you about it,” Arthur said, perhaps a bit too defensively, but Merlin simply blinked at him as he leaned against the doorframe.

“I’m not interested,” Merlin replied. Arthur’s mouth opened to protest, but Merlin’s was still moving. “I’m not who you’re looking for.”

“What? Of course you are!” Arthur had to argue. “I mean – Merlin. You have to be Merlin. You had the same feeling as the rest of us, right? Like you knew it, deep down, like you’d known it since the day you were born, that it was who you were? That it was _everything_?”

“Something like that,” Merlin said with a noncommittal shrug, and Arthur felt like shaking him because of how utterly _wrong_ this was. “Look, I wouldn’t believe in any of this shit unless I could do magic. Otherwise I would have shut the door in your face.”

“But how would you have recognized me?” Arthur raised a challenging eyebrow, deciding that the mention of magic could be a topic for another time. “You _did_ recognize me.”

“I’d recognize you anywhere,” Merlin said with a scoff before his eyes widened fractionally. Apparently, that bit wasn’t supposed to have slipped out. Merlin covered it up with a simple “I’m just not who you’re looking for. I’m sorry, alright? Find someone else. I’m not interested.”

With those parting words, the door slammed in Arthur’s face. He stood there, still and silent for a few moments.

He didn’t know why, but he felt dirty and disfigured. That wasn’t what was supposed to have happened. Not by a long shot. 


End file.
